This will be quick.
I really wish people would actually listen to themselves as they pontificate from their soapboxes.**
Because maybe then they’d hear how ridiculous their rationality is. Maybe they’ll hear the absurdity of the things that they defend, and how frightening it is to hear what they’ll wholly argue and fight against.
Example: the same people who have no problem using the word “ni&&a” because they think that using it as a term of “endearment” takes the power from what it originally meant are the same people who utterly refuse to celebrate Easter or Christmas because of where they think those holidays derived from.
Sure, let’s just make the evil good and the good evil.
**but I guess that defeats the point because people who like to talk don’t listen. Anyway. Moving on.
For a few different reasons, I’m waxing nostalgic – going back to “a time” – and though I would prefer not to, here goes:
It’s 10pm. I was determined to go to bed “early” tonight. There’s the most beautiful early spring breeze coming through my window and it seems to be God’s way of lulling me to sleep. That is, until I get a thought – no, more of a feeling. One that I’ve been getting more and more recently. It’s of you. And no, unfortunately, not the You I should be focused on. It’s been long enough ago, though, that I should have no need to think of you at all. We both knew it was a hopeless and hapless situation we were putting each other in. I knew I never stood a chance of having any kind of peace being in your life and you knew that you absolutely weren’t right for me. You called it a “disconnect”. And you were absolutely right. My light and your dark never, ever could have connected. But we still tried it. And failed miserably. And now it’s 10pm and I’m thinking of you. Not missing you, but definitely thinking of you.
Why do we think about the unthinkable? Although all is forgiven, how do we forget the unforgettable? How do we let the breeze blow without really feeling it?
I think every woman should at least learn the fundamentals of football. (oh stop grumblin…and guys, get down and stop dancing on the couch! LOL Just hear me out on this one.)
I think there is a concept of life that some football fans inherently get whether they are conscious of it or not. I think that men especially see it, and that’s why so many are utterly drawn to the sport.
There is no other game that is so reflective of life. Not baseball, not basketball, not Olympic swimming.
In life you can get blitzed and blindsided…especially when it calls an audible and you missed it. You can be focused with no distractions and have a quick rush of some decent yardage, only to get knocked back 10 yards for something stupid you did. Sometimes you can be running straight toward your goal and outrun any opponent that tries to stop you. You can leap and flip over them. But sometimes your opponent runs you over like a mac truck and dares you to get up…those are times you have to stay down a minute and gather your bearings. Sometimes you have so much coming at you from so many different angles that you get confused and frustrated and just throw your purpose anywhere to get rid of it. And sometimes you just have to take a knee because you know it won’t do you any good to push ahead at that exact moment.
Life can be violent and brutal. Life can run exactly as the play was called. And every now and again, you come up on a touchdown and get to celebrate.
It’s worth watching.
Because I am a professed speed demon, one thing I wanna do before this life is over is drive a race car. I figure two or three good laps around at somewhere around 200 mph would be good. But even if I never get to do that, I’ve done some other things I NEVER envisioned myself doing – I’ve ziplined over Mexican forests (and I’m really afraid of heights), I’ve snorkeled out in the Caribbean waters (and I absolutely cannot swim…as a matter of fact, I can’t even float), I’ve spent eleven days in Japan and traveled on their subway system by myself with no real knowledge of the language (‘arigato gozaimasu’ is still all I got – and technically that’s in english).
The one thing that was the same in each of those circumstances is that I never let my feelings get ahead of the activity. I knew well before I zipped, snorkeled, or traveled what my deficiencies were. They were the facts present going INTO it. But I didn’t think about them too long. I let the reward of the experience take over, and because of that, I not only DID those things, but I ENJOYED the journey of them. I have memories that can never be taken from me. I learned things about myself and God that I never would have if the facts of the situation had overtaken me.
The same is true for my plan (rather God’s plan through me). I know how old I am. I know that I have bills to pay. I know that I would much rather keep my “journalized” life to myself. I know all that going in. But those are only FACTS. Facts that my faith can and will overcome….because God said so.
So now – God says “I just told you to ______; leave the rest up to Me (please and thank you).” You can fill in your own blank – and drive your own race car.
I recently saw a quote that read “it doesn’t matter what you believe, it’s your behavior that counts.” It immediately broke me out in hives. Though I understand it’s general premise, it’s still probably one of the most untrue statements I’ve ever read and will never, ever be a personal proverb.
What you believe inspires your behavior. It forms your precepts. You cannot and typically do not act without some form of conviction. Even your lack of action speaks to what you believe.
If you believe that life is worthless, you will have no ambition toward anything meaningful.
If you believe that you don’t have the capacity for true love, you will sabotage every relationship that forms around you, romantic and platonic.
If you believe that people are expendable, you will murder and hate, and have no issue with it.
It’s three forty something in the morning (the time that’s so early that the numbers just won’t suffice).
Nothing is stirring. Not even a mouse.
It’s peaceful. Literally, full of peace. To the brim.
There are no car horns blaring. No people scurrying up and down the street in rowdy conversation. Even the birds are still sleeping. The only sound and movement is of the light breeze blowing leaves across the street – and you really have to be tuned in to hear that.
God it’s perfect this time of the morning.
I went to sleep with so many deep thoughts to share upon my waking. I categorized everything that needed to happen for today and laid down on my to-do list. But now that I’m up in the still of this morning, none of that even remotely matters. I don’t know what the rest of the day will bring. I’m certain it won’t be like this even in the milliseconds after the sun rises. The lunacy of the “hustle and bustle” will try to take over, even in my mind.
It seems arrogant to me now that I intended to run with my plan when even nature understands what to do with the luxury we’ve been given at this time of the morning.
Just be quiet. Be still. Hush.
I have a very short list of my favorite TV shows (at the top right now are the ‘Big Bang Theory’ and ‘Criminal Minds’). But ‘Martin’ is still, and will probably always be one of my all-time favorites. I was skimming through YouTube and came across this clip:
As I had a hearty guffaw, I started to notice how much significance that little clip had. First, a little background. Anyone who has ever been exposed to southern gospel will know the story involved. A little dog found himself in a tough situation; he had repeatedly taunted a larger dog on the other side of the fence simply because he thought he was safe on the other side of a gate lock that was secure. But one faithful day when he was really feeling himself, he came face to face with his much larger adversary…because unbeknownst to little Scooter, this time someone left the gate open.
Now to the clip, Bruh-Man had easy access to the apartment cause the window was open. He had no issue with climbing into a space that didn’t belong to him, yet making himself ultra comfortable: made himself a sandwich and was checking for their cable. It didn’t remotely dawn on him that people typically knock on the front door and wait for permission to enter. He wasn’t at all concerned about what they may have been doing, because he had already made it a habit of coming through whenever he felt like it. And to make the most of his stolen access, he would usually do it when they weren’t home. He really thought all this was natural. But it was funny that Martin and Gina were so wrapped up in their conversation that for a minute, they didn’t even realize he was there.
So I ask…how many times has Rambo attacked you because you didn’t know your gate was left open? Who believes they have the right to just open the window to your heart, climb in, and get comfortable there, even though they really don’t have any permission to do so? How long did it take you to figure out that they were even in there?
Don’t feel bad about telling your Bruh-Mans they gotta roll. Then make sure to secure your gates.
I have always felt powerless around people. I was always misunderstood, always ignored, always stuffed in a box, always told what to do and never having any options. So the one wall I never sincerely tried to tear down was the one I built to protect myself from people. But what has happened is that more and more people come to test me right at that wall — and in my heart, they usually win. But I never really understood why that was my revolving door of failure until just a little while ago.
I was rehashing this really painful and disappointing situation in my mind. I couldn’t rest from it. One night I was in broccoli mode and Criminal Minds was on. In one of the scenes they started talking about power – who really had it and what gave the “unsub” – unidentified subject – his power. On this episode, the unsub/criminal was a murderer who made a significant person witness his heinous crime and then left them alive. As the story unfolded, the team uncovered that as a really young boy, the unsub’s mother had made him witness and take part in horrible things (she was a drug abuser and a prostitute) and so he wound up inflicting the same type of pain on other people. He would force young children into a partially open closet in the parents’ room as he tortured and killed the parents. A shiver ran through my body because I realized that I’m an unsub. I don’t literally murder people, but in trying to take my power back after I’ve been hurt, I can completely kill someone off mentally and spiritually. My responses in hurtful situations really had much less to do with what actually happened as it had to do with feeling, rather not wanting to feel, powerless.
But the truth of the matter is that I wasn’t welding any power in that response, I was simply being masochistic. Because trying to hurt people who have wounded you without them knowing you want them to hurt only hurts you. They typically don’t really notice that you haven’t called. They don’t really care that you haven’t been around. They definitely aren’t concerned enough to wonder what happened. Those are all the questions you take on, in addition to whatever issue you experienced. You might as well handcuff yourself to a shrub and resign to eating fallen leaves from its branches and waiting for rain to have a sip to drink.
But God reminded me what my actual power source is. Jesus was in complete anguish over what he had to do but STILL conceded to do it anyway. He always knew where his power came from and how to use it. I’ll be honest, my response was “WELL I AIN’T JESUS…so to hell with this fraganakle crap!” But while I may not BE Jesus, I HAVE Jesus so the same thing he could do, I can do with him in me. I am really quick to detach from my vine when it’s time to take cover but He keeps telling me I not only don’t have to, but it truly isn’t in my best interests either.
I wanted to relax a bit and decided to put on ‘the Passion of the Christ’. I saw it on its opening week and remember crying through much of it (and I am NOT a crier). This being Lent season, I felt it only appropriate to dig it up and watch it again, but this time I couldn’t make it past the first 5 minutes before I had to turn it off. I know the message of the movie was what I wanted, but I couldn’t deal with the extra stuff that I apparently missed the first time around – the complete misrepresentations that I assume were for cinematic effect. I couldn’t tolerate it.
If you aim to do something or be someone and you stumble a bit, that’s one thing. But to purposefully misrepresent yourself, facts, or a situation, for whatever reason, just grinds my gears. I probably have such an issue with it because I was good at it, rather, allowing it and even enabling it.
Example: Once I had a friend, someone I considered a best friend, who made no qualms about telling me (after 15 years of knowing them) that they knew they were a scumbag. Now that’s pretty strong language and a pretty strong claim to admit in the first person (I know I am a scumbag). It was a “clutch the pearls” moment — I’d known this person for what seemed like ever. I knew all the proverbial good they’d done (I also knew the evil they were capable of, but we’ll come back to that). My verbal and heart response was “Noooo…you’re not a scumbag…don’t say that!” To add to that, I would accent those “good” things they seemed to have done in my mind to justify how I wanted to see them. I chose to only see their representative. Eventually, all I allowed myself to pretend got blown away because the scumbag fully surfaced and ripped through my life like a tornado, with no apology. In hindsight I recognize that no matter what I wanted them to be, the real person was an outright mess. I know that what I should have done when I got this gem of information was to immediately state that if that is what they thought about themselves, and had no desire to fix it, then I had to exit stage left because I wasn’t going to allow their truth to become my nightmare.
Moral(s) of the Story: if it walks like a duck, quacks like a duck, wears a “Ducks Rule” t-shirt, and will tell you it’s a duck…I can assure you that it is indeed an actual duck. And you are not obligated to accept a duck trying in vain to pass itself off as a swan.
I know it’s been said a million times – “if you are alive, you will go through something!” Here’s a million and one. If you are alive, you will go through something. Stuff will break and break down at the worst time. People will change, or stay the same. You will get hired and hate the job; you will get fired and wish for the job back. Inevitably, life will happen. But here’s the rub, most people have two responses to the happenings of life: 1) I am all alone in this., and 2) Why me?
I beseech you to take a short moment of silence while those two lies die……..(I’ll wait)….
2) Why me? is the typical response when you just can’t understand why things are happening to you. You of all people – the “good guy”. You’ve done most things “right” (…well…except that summer a couple years back. It was a phase…). You just don’t understand.
But think about it outside of yourself. You may be dealing with an issue so that you can help someone else either get through the same thing, or avoid it all together. Even your most inconsequential mishaps can help someone else. Pretend you live in an apartment with a small living room. You stub your big toe on the end of the couch, literally, every day because you never measured the space and ordered a chair that didn’t actually fit. You finally get to move out and you happen to meet a set of people who are interested in your humble abode. Because your toe is still throbbing from the day’s impact, you make sure to advise them to check the size of any furniture they may have or may order to make sure it fits – so that they don’t have the same issue. Silly as it may seem, your pain becomes their gain. You may have single-handedly ended the cycle of toe abuse.
And THAT’s what our troubles, whether light or major, are about. So the question really should be “why NOT me?”